


Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by AvaJune



Series: Of Wolves and Dogs [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Sansa, Dirty Talk, Implied Sexual Content, Knifeplay, Power Couple, Ramsay wants nice things too, Rape-as described in the episode where they marry, Wax Play, us against the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaJune/pseuds/AvaJune
Summary: The way Sansa could have turned out after surviving Kings Landing and Petyr, and how her relationship with Ramsay would be if she did. This explores a non-conventional and supremely unhealthy relationship in the making, but really that's just because there is no way to have a healthy relationship with Ramsay involved, obviously. First part of a series that will be followed by additional one shots that show how they make their life together and contain explicit content.





	Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Sansa Stark was no longer Sansa Stark.  
She was Sansa Bolton.  
Dressed in furs and heavy embroidery, she had met Ramsay at the Godswood, in front of subjects and what was becoming her new family. She acted her part and she did it well. She had Cersei to thank for that. Sanya's mother had been a true lady of the North, strong, loyal, and steadfast. Though she may despise all the Lannisters, she was a smart girl. She learned at Cersei's knee how to be a true lady of the South. Ladies of the North died bravely. Ladies of the South survived.  
And so, as she spoke her vows to her new husband, she kept her face timid. Sansa was hesitant, she was soft. To all outward appearances, Ramsay had her at a disadvantage. To all outward appearances, she was to be pitied.  
As she returned to her bed chambers, now as a married woman, she was struck by the depth of those deep blue eyes as her new husband stared at her. Joffrey was a child playing with his toys. Ramsay was not. Ramsay was a man. A cruel man, a sadistic man, and though he was now the Warden of the North, he too was the sum of his experiences. Sansa noted to herself that he was much more like the men at King's Landing than the honorable brothers who should have been with her here, at Winterfell. But they weren't. They weren't here, but Ramsay was and so was she and so this was what she had to work with. She was startled out of her thoughts when Ramsay's voice broke the silence.  
"Are you pleased, my Lady?" he asked, indicating the fine bed covered with furs and the candles lit all around the room, creating an almost romantic glow. It would have been romantic, if they had loved each other. But they didn't, and so it would always be almost something and never quite enough to be anything.  
Sansa met his eyes, keeping hers soft and open. She nodded, mixing in the slightest bit of hesitation. Tonight was a night to learn her husband, find out how he intended this marriage to go. Tonight, she would be entirely at his mercy and that was good, because she wanted to see how Ramsay treated a wife, how far his urges and depravities would go when confronted with the woman who was to bear him children. Not a servant and not a whore, but his highborn lady wife.  
"My father said you are still a virgin." He stated this as fact, and it was true. But again, Sansa noticed much more then she let on. Theon (and she would never call him Reek-never, ever) still stood in the room. Ramsay wanted her uncomfortable, and off balance. Apparently, no one told him that Joffrey had stripped her in front of the whole court to have her beaten. One doesn't retain too much of a sense of propriety after such a thing.  
"Yes," she replied simply.  
"Why?" Ramsay countered. "Why are you still a virgin?" He smiled widely. "Afraid of Dwarves?"  
Sansa eyed Theon out of the corner of her eye. He wanted desperately not to be here, in this room.  
"Lord Tyrion was kind," she answered. "He was gentle. He never touched me."  
"You're not lying to me?" He asked, still grinning and studying her eyes intently.  
She met his gaze. There was sorrow there, insecurity, anger, and above all, rabidness.  
"No, my Lord," she replied truthfully.  
"Because lying to your husband on your wedding night," he told her, eyes still fixed on hers. "That would be a bad way to start a marriage."  
His threat was followed by a gentle touch to her cheek and the conflict of the two was slightly intoxicating. Sansa shoved it down. She needed to be clear headed to get through this night intact.  
"We're man and wife now." His voice rung with false sincerity. "We should be honest with each other. Don't you think?"  
Still staring in his eyes, Sansa began to wonder if the casual threats weren't two fold. He was trying to unnerve her, that much was obvious. But behind his eyes there was a small hope for something she couldn't quite name yet. He may have wanted a true wife, after all. That was probably too much to ask of an arranged marriage, but that didn't stop him from wanting it, it would seem.  
When he kissed her, it was gentle, such a strange departure from what she had heard of him. She had been kissed, but she wasn't exactly experienced at it. But something about his kiss sent a lightening bolt through her and down to between her legs. She almost moaned, but caught herself just in time. She couldn't give away so much in emotion before the playing board was transparent.  
When he stepped back, though, a different man stood in front of her. "Good," he said, as if they had come to an understanding. His eyes changed, and now there was not an ounce of gentleness to be seen. All that stared out at Sansa now was stormy heat.  
"Now take off your clothes."  
Ahhh, she thought. So now we shall see. She glanced at Theon and he moved towards the exit. "Oh, no, no, no," said Ramsay before he could leave. "You stay here, Reek. You watch."  
Sansa didn't have to fake the disbelief on her face as she looked back at Theon. Surely Ramsay was not serious, that was degrading. But more than that, Theon had once been like a brother to her. Neither wanted him to see her undressed. Theon lingered in the doorway, his face etched in agony. Theon had done horrible things, unbelievable things, but Sansa had learned what people were willing to do to survive. What she was willing to do to survive. And while she refused to call him anything but his name, the Theon Greyjoy she had grown alongside was truly dead. This man was a broken shadow.  
Her thoughts were interupted yet again by the sound of Ramsay's voice. He was staring straight at her, taking in every expression that flit across her face. "Do I need to ask a second time?" he asked, his smile sinister. "I hate asking a second time."  
His eyes held hers and they were a warning, a promise that violence was coming quickly if she did not do as she had been told. His jaw tightened and twitched.  
She turned her back on them both and began the ardous and time consuming task of undressing. Gods, how she envied Margaery those southern gowns. Sansa thought they probably took all of five minutes to get off.  
She heard Theon close and lock the door as she moved to unbutton her sleeve.  
"Reek." Ramsay's voice rang out behind her. "I told you to watch."  
Sansa shook her head imperceptibly. She was to be his wife. Her body was an asset, and it should not be given away to others. This was not acceptable, not the way she deserved to be treated even if one only considered her worth to the Bolton Family. Sansa moved to her other sleeve.  
"You've known Sansa since she was a girl." He taunted Theon behind her and she bit her lip to keep silent. She had decided before, he would have his wedding night. She would learn his weaknesses and watch his behavior. He already showed one. It was only insecurity that could drive a man to force another to watch him bed his wife. Ramsay was born a bastard and was obviously still trying to prove to himself that he no longer was one. That inferiority could be used against him by any of his enemies, and by extension, her enemies. It would have to be dealt with.  
"Now watch her become a woman."  
Apparently, the slow task of undressing a bride in furs with elaborate buttons was beyond Ramsay's patience. Another weakness there, impatience. He ripped the dress down her back into two pieces, revealing the smooth and pale skin of her shoulders. She cried out in surprise and despite the fear that rolled in at what was about to happen, she also felt that same pleasure as before shoot through her core. His hands on her skin felt like fire and she fervently hoped he couldn't tell.  
Ramsay pushed her to bend over the bed and all thought of fire and pleasure left her. It HURT, it really did, and Ramsay gave her no gentle entrance as he shoved himself inside her in one stroke. She began to cry, the pain was so intense and unexpected that she couldn't help it. He gave her no time to adjust before he began to slam into her, taking his pleasure whether she was ready or not. He certainly hadn't given her any sort of treatment to ready herself for him, but she was silently relieved that at least she had already been wet. He moaned above her and on instinct she tightened around him, liking that sound as some of the pain had ebbed to a dull burn and a little pleasure was leaking into the feeling. His hips stuttered when he felt her clench, but he picked up his rhythm again, and suddenly Sansa found herself clenching down on him quite a bit. She didn't feel well enough to over ride the pain, but when she clenched it felt better and mixed enough of the good feelings in to be slightly better than bearable. When he finally came, it was with a roar. He pulled out of her and left her there, stretched across the bed with his seed and her blood leaking down her legs. Theon had been crying the whole time, but he followed Ramsay and left her there alone.  
Between her legs hurt deeply and she was filthy from what had been done to her. She hobbled to the door and called to the guards there to send her a servant girl (anyone but Mryanda) and the Maester, immediately, and to ready a bath for her use. The servant came to her within minutes and helped her undress and climb into the tub. The hot water burned very much between her legs, but it was a necessary evil, as she needed to be clean. He would be back tomorrow, and she would not look like a broken wretch, could not, unless she wanted to continue to be treated this way. The servant kindly helped her into a night dress and stripped her bed, making it up with clean things just before the Maester arrived with a potion he had prepared in advance. "All women could use a little help on their wedding night," he told her with a sad smile. Sansa thanked them both and then sent them on their way, wincing as she stood once more to bar the door behind them.  
She needed sleep and time to think, because now she knew how he intended to treat his bride and she would be having none of it. She could give him the north on a platter and they could rule together, or someday he would face death by her hand or order. It was simply a matter of where Ramsay decided he wanted to be once he realized he had gravely underestimated her. 

\---

Sansa stood in front of the fire, lost in thought as she studied the flames. Tonight, Ramsay would come to her, and seeing as she was locked in her bedchamber for the whole day, she had used her time constructively. She had planned the evening out and now, all that was left to do was wait for him.  
Soon thereafter, her door was opened, but she continued to stare into the fire. She heard the door being closed and barred before a small gasp of surprise came from behind her. Smiling sweetly, Sansa glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes. He seemed stunned momentarily, and she could almost laugh at why. He had expected her to be predictable, cower, try to make herself less attractive. He did not expect to walk into to the sight of her naked figure framed by the fire in front of her, her hair loose and tumbling down her back.  
"Hello husband," she said in greeting, turning and crossing the room. She approached a small table on which sat a pitcher of red wine and two glasses, along with assorted foods. "Can I offer you some wine?" She looked at him and smiled again.  
He quickly recovered his shock and walked towards her. "Yes, wife, that sounds lovely." She held up her hand to stop his approach.  
"Please Ramsay," she said with her best smile, "go take off your tunic and relax in the bed. I will serve you."  
Sansa watched him carefully and noted with no small amount of pride that he was not completely fooled by her ruse. This was good. To be married to a fool was a sure way to an early grave.  
She supposed he found no danger to indulging her. "As you wish, my love," he replied, moving to the bed. "I'll play along."  
He stripped off his tunic leaving him only in his breaches and lay back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. He really was handsome. Sansa found herself hoping that he would choose to work with her and not against her. They could do a great many things.  
She approached the bed and climbed up, handing him his wine and straddling him. One of his hands tipped his drink back while his other rose to Sansa's hip. He drank deeply of his goblet while Sansa sipped hers, their eyes locked the entire time. Finally, he gave her that sinister smile and opened his mouth to speak. That was the smile she'd been waiting for.  
Sansa darted forward, upending the glass of wine all across his chest and stomach. Before he could even curse she had a candle in her hand and was poised over him with it inches from his chest. He reached to grab her hand but Sansa dipped the candle lower, enough for him to feel the burn, so he smirked at her but stilled.  
"Put your hands back behind your head, my love," Sansa told him. And he obliged. "I'd like to speak with my husband, but I rather suspect that if I tried that normally I would have ended up unceremoniously fucked again. Am I wrong?"  
His smirk never fell as he shrugged his shoulders. "You're not wrong."  
"And then where would we be, Ramsay? I can assure you, we will have our talk now or you will burn in the bed you bedded me on. I'm not here as your fuck toy, husband. I am neither a servant nor a whore. I am your wife, the last of the Stark Line, rightful Wardeness of the North, and I am not a fuck toy."  
Ramsay looked up at her with wicked curiosity, even as hot candle wax dripped on his chest. "A Lady, with that mouth? Well, I won't argue with you. Please continue then, wife. I'm eager to hear all you have to tell me."  
"We have spoken vows, Ramsay. I belong to you as you belong to me. It is the utmost disrespect to share my body with anyone. I am yours and yours alone. I don't want anyone else to see me."  
"Sansa, Reek is not someone, he is like a dog. He doesn't count." Ramsay spoke to her as if he were explaining a concept to a child.  
"He counts to me, Ramsay. I am a high born lady, I am beautiful, I am clever, and I am yours. Do you really wish to share this with anyone? Is anyone else worthy to see me?"  
Ramsay looked her over and she could see the wheels turning in his head. "You make a very good point, wife. I believe you are right. Do tell me, what other wonderful ideas do you have floating in that beautiful mind of yours?"  
"One moment husband, I do believe you are drying and shall soon be in need of more wine. Allow me." Sansa scooted down his legs, keeping the candle poised until she was too far away to hold it. "I should remind you that you are well within tossing distance and if you move, even a little, you and the bed will be on fire in a terrible, unavoidable accident." She smiled sweetly. Ramsay said nothing but nodded, the slightest smirk still playing on his face.  
She retrieved the wine and placed it on the nightstand before straddling him again. She looked at his face and was silent for awhile, studying him. He raised an eyebrow. "You are thinking very intently, dearest. Won't you share with your husband?"  
Sansa smiled slowly at him. "I am wondering whether you understand it yet."  
"Understand, wife?"  
"That I am not someone to be trifled with. That I can and will kill you if I must. But mostly Ramsay," she paused, running her free hand through his hair. "I'm wondering if you realize just how incredibly GOOD we could be together. I don't want to be your means to an end, husband. I want to be your wife and I want to rise with you. We could rule the whole of the North, if we were so inclined. But if that's not an option, then I will fucking slit your throat one day soon and rise all the same."  
Sansa rocked her hips, because he was rock hard beneath her. Apparently, at least some part of him was enjoying what she was saying. He moaned softly and Sansa saw that his pupils were blown and it made her throb.  
He shook his head back and forth in disbelief. "You, my love, are nothing like what I expected."  
"Oh no," Sansa whispered with feigned unhappiness. "Do I displease you, my Lord Husband?" She punctuated the word husband by circling her hips on his lap and he growled.  
"Quite the opposite, Lady Bolton."  
His breath was heavy now and she knew she was going to pay for this conversation one way or another. She simply hoped she had said enough to pay in a "sexy" way and not a "dungeon's and torture" way. But she had always known that the latter was a possibility. It was worth it. He couldn't kill her, not yet. She could survive anything he threw at her for however long it needed to be endured. She had been bent so many times she was now practically unbreakable.  
"We're not done talking," she told him, fixing him with a heavy stare. Then, for better or for worse, she reached for the courage her mother had taught her and she blew the candle out.  


\---

They both sat like that for a while, eyes locked, seeing what the other would do. Finally, without breaking her gaze, she reached for the wine and poured it over him again. He gasped softly as the cold wine hit his skin again but still did not move. It was only when Sansa brought her mouth down and began licking the wine off the muscles of his stomach that he broke.  
Sansa found herself on her back beneath him, her arms pinned to either side of her head. He reveled in the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers.  
"So," he said, looking down at her with a grin. "You want to be my Queen?"  
"Yes, Husband. I want very much to be your Queen," she answered, never breaking eye contact.  
Ramsay wasn't sure what to think of this turn of events. He almost never misread people. He was excellent at judging what they wanted, needed, what would make them squirm, what would make them break. Had he really been so blind to this girl who was now his by law?  
He moved her wrists above her head so he could hold them with one hand and reached for his tunic. He pulled out a blade and felt Sansa shiver beneath him. He ran the blunt side of the knife along the upward swell of her breasts, continuing down the her right side to the curve of her hip. He needed her to know that as much as he respected her creativity (really, wine and fire, he never saw that coming,) he was still in charge. They could be equal, almost. But he would never accept his wife thinking she could dominate him.  
"Strange," he told her, smirking at her beautiful features. "I was under the impression that the Starks were all extremely ethical."  
Sansa stiffened below him, and ground her teeth slightly. He had hit a nerve, obviously. He was less gleeful for it than he thought he would be. "Ramsay, how many Starks are left to this world, hmmm?"  
"I know of only one for certain, dearest." He brought the blade across and up her sternum, still using the dulled end. Her skin was so soft and unmarred, like perfect snow before any beast or man tred upon it.  
"That," she told him, her eyes hard, "was our reward for being good, being honest and kind. I am alone because of their 'ethics.' Only fools play by the rules when it is certain that the game is rigged. And I am no longer a fool."  
Ramsay chuckled with delight, running the blade down her left hip. So she had changed, her fairy tale life upended. Everyone had to grow up sometime, he supposed. If he was honest, he was jealous of her early life. She had been loved, cherished even. But now they were all dead, while it seemed to him that his relatives always lived for-fucking-ever.  
"No, my beautiful wife," he whispered. "You are a Bolton."  
She smiled up at him. "So I am." And to Ramsay's delight, she truly looked pleased about that.  
He buried the blade into the bed beside her pillow and brought his lips to her neck. "And what of my...appetites, Lady Bolton? Are you really so far depraved as to revel in those things I do so enjoy?" He nipped the skin at the base of her neck and grinned when she gasped. She smelled amazing. He hadn't been taking his time last night, had been making a point. Now though, he would marvel at the perfection that was his young wife.  
"I don't enjoy them, no," she answered honestly. "But I know we can come to a compromise. There are very few good people left to this world, Ramsay. Leave those few alone and you'll not hear me complain."  
He looked at her face, gleeful surprise lighting his eyes up. Surely it wasn't that simple. "Really?" he said, feeling skeptical. "That's really just fine with you?"  
She cupped his cheek. He felt his chest clench at her touch, a caress that promised a million things he had never dared hope for in his life. "Husband, I have quite a few people I will gladly hand to you the moment we can get our hands on them. I have not been treated kindly, you know this."  
Ramsay's eyes narrowed. He was actually mostly unaware of what had happened to Sansa between the time she left Winterfell and when Little Finger brought her back, to marry. "No, I do not know this. Who? Tell me who." He brushed his hand across her cheek. "I will burn them all, for daring to touch you. I promise you, every hurt you have endured I will avenge ten fold." And he meant it. She was HIS. No one got away with hurting what was his, even if she hadn't officially been his at the time. He would avenge all transgressions committed against her, both past and future and he would do it with immense pleasure.  
Sansa smiled and reached up to kiss his lips, smiling wider when he melted into her. Her lips were soft on his, and all he really wanted to do was devour her mouth. But ending the kiss and leaning her forehead to his, Sansa told him, "I will tell you all, give you all their names. But not now. For now, my handsome husband, I would like the wedding night that you denied me."  
Ramsay grimaced slightly, a small sliver of guilt running through him. "I should have talked to you. I shouldn't have assumed you were like them."  
Sansa shushed him, running her hands through his hair again. "Never mind that, it's forgotten. Please, please love me?" Her eyes were filled with hope and a dash on mischief.  
"Do you mean fuck you, my Little Dove?" He ran his tongue across her pulsepoint and she wiggled underneath him. "Or is that not something my high born wife would ask for?"  
Ramsay drew back, smirking and waiting for her answer. "Do you mean to ask me, Lord Bolton, if I would like you to put your cock in my cunt and make sure I actually enjoy it this time? Because yes, that would be most pleasant."  
He almost let his jaw slacken at the sweet, innocent smile she looked up at him with while she spoke those filthy words. He recovered himself quickly though, and smiled.  
"As you wish, Lady Bolton."


End file.
